


General Dominus

by BlueSkyLarimar



Series: A Masterful Universe [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: (kinda), (shades of), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Alternate Universe - Roleswap, Death, Existentialism, M/M, One Shot, Regeneration, Roleswap, The Doctor as the Master (Doctor Who), Thoschei, Violence, one shots, the Big Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSkyLarimar/pseuds/BlueSkyLarimar
Summary: A series of one-shots that take place in my roleswap Doctor Who universe.This edition follows the Hartnell!Master, a severely disciplined war veteran whose reign of terror will never end, in his interactions with himself, the universe, and others. Characters and tags will be updated as the chapters are uploaded.Find this fic's dedicated Tumblr here: universally-masterful.tumblr.comCurrently on hiatus to focus on others in the series. Will return to regular scheduling (every Saturday) when I feel like it.Previously titled A Masterful Universe.
Series: A Masterful Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805425
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. An Introduction

The Master had always been a creature of habit.  
  
Sleep for 3 hours, wake, shower, eat, terrorise the universe, and smoke a pipe or two before bed.  
  
Nothing too out of the ordinary.  
  


Today the Master had landed on some small, insignificant planet in the Jhakata system. He strolled through the streets of some war-torn city, cane tapping on the shell-dented tarmac. His eyes calmly scanned the sky. The screaming civilians streaming around him were irrelevant.  
  
Perhaps 100, maybe even 50, years ago he may have run. Hurried, maybe. But in his old age the Master felt he had the right to slow down a little. Take in the sights and sounds of the unrelenting death gracing this pathetic little civilisation. He deserved it. He’d worked hard to spend 478 years in the same body, after all.  
  
A house was burning beside him. He breathed in the smoke, savouring the way it burned his lungs. He wished he’d brought his pipe with him. His brain vaguely registered that some of the pitiful insects were wearing gas masks. The Master supposed that if it got bad enough, he could use his respiratory bypass system. Such is the brilliance of Time Lord biology.  
  
A youth caught the Master’s eye. They were dressed in fatigues with a gun at their waist.  
  
This was his way in.  
  
“I say, you there!” The Master raised his hand in greeting and moulded his face into a friendly smile. He swore he heard his muscles creak.  
  
The youth looked up. And then back down.  
  
Oh? So that’s how it is, is it? The Master’s face returned to its perpetual scowl. He grasped his lapel and stalked over to the soldier. His eyes flashed dangerously as he drew himself up to his full height.  
  
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, private!” The Master barked. The soldier looked up in alarm and they locked eyes. His form instantly slackened, eyes glossing over.  
  
The Master felt a sense of calm wash over him. This was a role he had played countless times before. He squared his shoulders and peered down his nose at this new toy.  
  
“Stand to attention, private.” The youth did so, staring at some spot far away on the horizon. Behind the Master came a scream and a sickeningly wet crunch.  
  
“I am General William Masters of the 10th Commandment Fleet. I have come from my post far away to help you because you seem utterly incapable of helping yourselves. You must take me to your highest commander here. I’m sure I make myself clear, hm?”  
  
The youth snapped out a salute (“Sir, yes, sir!”) and began to march away.  
  
The Master tucked his cane under his arm and moved to follow. This was going to be fun.  


The Master reclined in his chair, lighting his pipe and adjusting his glasses. He sighed out the smoke. That little game had been fun after all...  
  
It hadn’t taken him long to infiltrate the ranks of the local army and get to a point where he had command of a section. From there, he played little cat and mouse games designed to look like he was gaining ground but were, in actuality, causing as much death and destruction as possible.  
  
His proudest moment was ordering a missile strike into a town full of innocents to potentially smoke out one single traitor. Who happened to be on the other side of the country at the time. Whoops.  
  
He took a particularly long puff as he remembered the utter despair in the voice of the message-boy who’d reported the loss of life. That night he’d had to grovel and plead his ignorance. That had stung. But the subsequent loss of morale around the command centre over the next few weeks had been completely worth it.  
  
The Master breathed out smoke through a dry chuckle.  
  
The ending had dragged on, much to his chagrin. Although, that was perhaps because he had been a little too effective in destroying both sides at once. In the end, though, his side had surrendered. He had managed to slip away back to his TARDIS, but not before assassinating the other side’s would-be President. With his bare hands, of course. He liked to keep his skills sharp and muscles strong. Even as his old body began to fail him.  
  
The Master chewed on his pipe and huffed. A painful memory of his left knee failing him during a recent battle wormed its way into his mind. He’d almost lost his balance, his sword, and his left eye all because of his body’s weakness.  
  
But the Master was nothing but a stubborn bastard and so he shook the memory out of his head. He ran a hand through his thinning hair as he told himself that he had plenty of life in this old body yet.  
  
He couldn’t change yet. He mustn’t. Not until…  
  
His TARDIS let out a chirp – time to sleep. The Master grumbled something that might have been a word of thanks and put out his pipe. He rose from his chair, moving in the direction of rest.  
  
A book about the Reign of Terror lay forgotten on the coffee table.  


The TARDIS was quiet and still. If one peered closely, they could see a vague apparition of a woman walking the corridors. Of course, the Master would insist that was impossible. No, no, dear me no. Entirely impossible.  
  
A screen cut through the darkness. The TARDIS had detected another of her kind floating within the time vortex. And this one just so happened to contain the Master’s greatest foe and oldest friend – the Doctor.  
  
And what curious companions he had on board…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are. As with my previous fic (please go read it) this was written mostly in the wee hours of the morning and is unbeta'd. This universe is an interesting one that I'm constantly developing and so if you have any questions please don't be shy about asking them!  
> But for those wondering, Susan does exist in this universe. She's just not with her grandfather...  
> If you're wondering what Hartnell!Master looks like, you can find pictures on universally-masterful.tumblr.com


	2. An Interaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought one Master was terrifying? Try having two of them! Our first multi-Master interaction is here!  
> This chapter features an appearance by Colin Baker!Master, a violent psychopath who's constantly on a sugar high. You know that bit just after the 6th Doctor regenerates and he tries to strangle Peri? Yeah he's like that but all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains non-graphic violence, negative weight/food talk, and potentially ableist language. If any of these will upset you, please don't read this chapter.  
> An update on this fic's status has been made on universally-masterful.tumblr.com so if you have any questions please read that first. Art of CBaker!Master will be uploaded there soon. Enjoy!

The Master kicked out at his opponent, dislodging one of the hands that were currently wrapped around his throat. His opponent was predictable as ever; strangling had always been his favourite method of attack.  
  
Of course, a fight will always be predictable when your opponent is yourself.  
  
A series of pummelling kicks to the chest sent his other self reeling, breaking his grip and causing the Master to hit the floor hard. He could finally breathe again, and he took in gulps of air as he assessed the situation.  
  
Being both shorter and lighter than his other self, he often had to use his own weight against him. Like… now! He dropped to the floor and gave a sweeping kick to his opponent’s legs, tripping him from his charge and sending him crashing down. The Master backed away, breathing hard. A deranged giggle came from the floor.  
  
“What’s the matter, old man? Strength waning?” Wild eyes looked up from underneath a mass of blond curls. “Why won’t you face me properly, Master to Master?” He licked blood from his lips.  
  
The Master tilted his head, looking down his nose at the battered man before him. He assumed a fighting stance: right leg back, left leg forward in a front stance, hands held out in guard. Wordlessly, he beckoned his future self. Come at me.  
  
The message was received, and the blond Master surged forward to land a powerful punch to the white-haired Master’s ribs. But the Master rolled with it and leaned upward to grab at the other Master’s curls, bring his head down, and smash it against his knee. Over and over and over and over and…  
  
“STOP!” The Master roared, voice gurgling through blood. The other Master relented, letting go and moving backwards, hands held up in a mockery of surrender.  
  
The beaten man dropped to his knees, hands on his face, blood seeping through his fingers.  
  
“YOU’VE BROKEN MY NOSE YOU **IDIOT!** ” The blond Master thundered. The white-haired Master rolled his eyes and simply rebuttoned his cuffs.  
  
“And what do you want me to do about it, hm?” He ran a hand over his ribs. Nothing broken, just bruised, thank the stars.  
  
“Bring my coat, I’m going to the med bay.”  
  
“I’m not your errand-boy!” The Master snapped at his future self’s swiftly retreating back. He picked up his own neatly folded coat and cardigan. Then he turned his attention to the mass of material that had been tossed to the other side of the room.  
  
The Master gingerly held the technicolour coat between forefinger and thumb. It was a heavy thing that had, presumably, once been a nearly coherent item. But now it was a mess of patchwork and sewed-up scars: evidence of battles lost and injuries sustained. It seemed that whenever the damn thing tore, his future self would crudely patch it with whatever he could find with no regard for its colour or pattern. Whatsoever.  
  
Sighing at his grim future, the Master slung the offending item over his arm and resolved to find the med bay.

  
  


“Tea?” The young-looking Master offered, the ever-present madness in his eyes besmirching his efforts at appearing civilised.  
  
“Yes please.” The old-looking Master held out his cup primly. He was pretty sure by now that his future self used their ‘tea times’ as just an excuse to eat ridiculous amounts of cake. On one occasion he’d seen him eat an entire chocolate cake by himself, even licking his plate afterwards. The pig.  
  
Today’s offering was red velvet. It looked…  
  
Scrumptious, thought the older Master.  
  
Like food, thought the younger Master.  
  
A thick slice was cut, cream cheese frosting dripping messily on the floor as it was transferred to a plate.  
  
“Sure you don’t want any?” The Master asked.  
  
“Quite sure, my boy.” The Master answered.  
  
“Suit yourself!”  
  
With that, there was silence. Well, silence aside from the constant chewing, swallowing, and appreciative noises from the Master. And the occasional sips of tea from the other Master, of course. It held for a minute, before:  
  
“Perhaps you shouldn’t eat so much, my dear.” The Master noted, “Then you wouldn’t be so, ah…” He rudely jabbed his other self’s stomach with the tip of his cane. His other self snorted.  
  
“Oh yes, I remember your attitude to food. One meal a day, and a measly one at that! You know, I think that you should eat more. I swore I could feel your ribs when I punched you.” He swatted the cane away and speared another chunk of cake.  
  
The Master tutted: “Oh, I’m glad that there is some buffer between you and I. How many did you say? Five regenerations between us?”  
  
“Right you are, Master. Though it doesn’t really matter; time will catch up with you eventually and you will end up with this.” He patted his stomach, paused, then giggled. “And this as well, I suppose.” He touched his bandaged nose and hissed in pain.  
  
“Stop touching that or it won’t heal correctly!” The first Master barked. The sixth Master grinned loopily.  
  
“I like the way it hurts.”  
  
The first Master couldn’t really chastise him for that. Not without being a hypocrite, at least. He pressed his knuckles onto a hard edge of his chair. They ached beautifully.

  
  


The rest of their ‘tea-time’ passed as it usually did. The first Master asking questions about his future, the sixth denying him answers. They mocked each other about height, weight, age… all those insignificant little things that could distract an onlooker from the truth. They were one and the same – both the Master, both thirsty for blood and hungry for carnage. And eventually cake too, as the older-looking Master gave in when he felt exhaustion from the fight catching up with him.  
  
As the time to leave drew near, the sixth Master removed the bandage from his nose to inspect the damage. They both noted that the bright red scar across it would never truly fade.  
  
(“Oho, you’re monstrous-looking enough already, one little scar isn’t that much of a problem.”)  
  
It was also truly bent out of shape, but they both supposed that could be easily fixed.  
  
(“At least I don’t have your nose. How do you even see around it?”)  
  
The first made the sixth promise to look after it and to make sure he didn’t die of some kind of infection. And to cut down on the cake.  
  
The former promise was agreed to. The latter received a loud and dramatic refusal.  
  
(“Pig? PIG?? **PIG?? _ME???_** )  
  
They said their farewells, the younger thanking the older for the wonderful opportunity to beat him senseless, and could he be a little more fun next time?  
  
The older merely laughed and mused that if the roles were reversed then the younger would be mightily confused about a broken nose he couldn’t remember acquiring.  
  
And then it was over, memories fading, TARDISes dematerialising.  
  
They simply must do that again sometime, the Master decided just as the timeline smoothed itself over and he lost the memory of exactly who ‘they’ were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this chapter was just a self-indulgent romp! The first and sixth Doctors are my favourites so I wanted to write about both of them within this AU. I've never been the best at writing fight scenes, so let me know what you think!  
> As always, you can find pictures at universally-masterful.tumblr.com/  
> Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the Master meets the Doctor, but not the one you were expecting...  
> I've recently really gotten into Sir Derek Jacobi's Big Finish work as the War Master and so, in another self-indulgent romp, I had to work him into this universe. So meet Jacobi!Doctor (the 7th Doctor in this canon), a previously rather haughty Doctor who has been broken down by having to survive and end the Time War.  
> Art of him will be going up on universally-masterful.tumblr.com once I finish more pressing deadlines first...  
> Also: WASH YOUR HANDS!

The Doctor was looking at him like he’d seen a ghost. The Master stared back, annoyance gracing his features. This Doctor was old, with neatly kept white hair, clean-shaven cheeks and sad, haunted eyes.  
  
The Master noted that he hadn’t seen this version of the Doctor before. He’d evidently regenerated, several times it seemed with how old his eyes looked.  
  
“Master…” The Doctor’s voice shook. The Master’s scowl deepened. He turned his attention back to the nuclear core he was setting to go critical. Missiles were planned to hit the city in a half hour or so, so he had to work quickly. He had no time for this snivelling version of his enemy’s antics.  
  
“Master, oh Master!” The Doctor stumbled forward, arms outstretched. Quick as a flash, the Master drew his sword from his cane and pressed the tip against the other Time Lord’s throat. The Doctor held very still, tears threatening to fall.  
  
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you my dear Doctor, but I don’t have time for you. Either try to stop me or leave me be.” The Master sheathed his sword and continued his work. The Doctor let a tear fall.  
  
“I should’ve known,” he let out a hiccupy chuckle, “when I tracked your signal that… that it wouldn’t be…” He trailed off, watching the Master work. “I’m alone, Master. I’m so alone.”  
  
“Doctor, you’re being even more incoherent that usual.” The Master’s laser focus began to shake a little. “Leave me alone.” He snipped a wire. And then snipped all the rest, just for good measure. He stood to admire his handiwork.  
  
“Master-“ A detonation nearby shook the facility, knocking both men from their feet. The Master caught himself against the wall while the Doctor simply slumped to the floor.  
  
“We’re in the middle of a war zone.” The Doctor said, voice tight, staring at the ceiling.  
  
“Yes, well. This is rather my natural habitat, hm?” The Master let out a wicked laugh. He side-eyed the Doctor, expecting some kind of snarky peace-loving comment. Instead, he saw white knuckles, heavy breathing and faraway eyes. The Master had seen this before, usually in young soldiers fresh from their first kill. A panic attack. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.  
  
What had happened to him?  
  
The Master felt weakness gnaw at his hearts. He cursed his sentimentality.  
  
The Doctor saw a hand come into his eyeline. He tore his eyes away from nothingness to see the Master bent over his cane, holding a hand out to him. A question formed on his lips.  
  
“Well come along if you’re coming.” The Master snapped, but it had none of its usual edge. The Doctor took the hand and hoisted himself to his feet, groaning at his aching knees. When had he gotten so… fragile?  
  
Both old men stood for a moment, hands clasped tightly. They looked intently at each other, deep blue into glittering brown.  
  
Another explosion rocked the room and they were gone.

  
  


They stood by their TARDISes, still holding hands. The Doctor had refused to let go.  
  
The Master’s TARDIS was shaped to look like some rubble. The Doctor’s looked like a police box from 1960’s Earth. The Master never would understand the Doctor’s little idiosyncrasies.  
  
“I suppose…” The Doctor spoke carefully, “This is where I leave you, Master.” He spoke his name with such reverence. It should have made the Master happy. It didn’t.  
  
“Yes, I do suppose it is.” Their hands parted. The Master pushed down the feeling of loss. “What will you do now?”  
  
Wiping his face with a handkerchief, the Doctor smiled sadly.  
  
“Oh, you know. The usual. Travel, save people… survive.”  
  
“How insipid.” The Master said, with a touch of fondness to the insult.  
  
“It’s just-" The Doctor stopped.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Oh no, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.”  
  
“Spit it out, Doctor.”  
  
“Well it’s just.” The Doctor looked the Master in the eye. “I’ve lost you. I can’t find you. I fear you may be…” He looked away, mouth quivering, struggling to form the word. The Master snorted.  
  
“Perish the thought, my dear.” He stepped close and tilted the Doctor’s head up with the handle of his cane. He still wouldn’t look at him. “The fact that you’re even thinking it is insulting.”  
  
The Doctor met his gaze.  
  
“I’m so old… I don’t want to be alone.” It came out as barely a whisper. The Master dropped his cane and cupped his eternal enemy’s face. Tears dripped onto his fingers.  
  
“You won’t be.” He whispered in return. “You know that my destiny is out there in the stars. I am death and destruction incarnate and you are my greatest enemy. So look for me, my dear. You just,” A kiss to the Doctor’s left cheek “have to,” a kiss to his right “look,” a kiss to his forehead “and you will find me.”  
  
They held for a moment, lips centimetres apart. Something whistled overhead.  
  
“We need to go. That, er, nuclear core’s set to flood in a few minutes and I don’t particularly feel like dying of radiation poisoning today.”  
  
They parted.  
  
The Doctor bent down and picked up the Master’s cane, handing it to his old friend with a smile. The Master took it, his usual scowl having reclaimed its rightful place. They entered their respective TARDISes, the Master with nary a backward glance. The Doctor watched as his TARDIS disappeared into the time vortex, wordlessly saluting his old friend. He shut the door of his own TARDIS just as the expected missile hit the nuclear plant and it went critical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... really wanted to write old men being sad and sappy okay? I've probably been watching too much Last Tango in Halifax.


	4. A Memory (Or Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master has three known weaknesses - the Doctor, his TARDIS, and his own stubbornness.  
> But he has a fourth that he will take to his grave.  
> Here, it is explored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quarantine special and my longest chapter yet by far!  
> An exploration of the Master's fondness for his granddaughter and of my experiences of fatigue which happen at the middle and end of every term without fail.  
> This also doubles as a sort of set-up/prequel for the adaptation of the serial The Sensorites that I'm currently writing.  
> See you on the other side!

It is a known fact throughout the universe that Time Lords are durable. Not invincible, thought it may seem like it sometimes, but very durable. Annoyingly so. However, it is also a known fact that the longer a Time Lord has stayed in their current body, the weaker they tend to be. This fact infuriated the Master to no end, as he didn't want to admit to any weakness at all. But it could not be ignored on the days when he couldn’t get out of bed for death nor money.  
  
This was one of those days.

  


The Master lay in a tangle of bedsheets, a sheen of cold sweat on his skin. It seemed he’d had a nightmare, though now he couldn’t remember for the life of him what it was about. He sighed. He stared at the cold white of his bedroom ceiling. It stared back.  
  
His limbs felt like lead, while his core felt like it was barely there at all. A fog lay across his mind, blocking him from truly thinking about anything. Somewhere in his consciousness, the thought that such a concept might be a good defence against prying psychic eyes vaguely appeared… but it slipped away before it could even be noticed. The Master took in a breath, chest heavy.  
  
It exhausted him to even keep his eyes open, but to close them would mean losing against this fatigue. And the Master _did not lose._

  


He supposed he’d overdone it a little recently. His latest escapade had sent him back into the Rutan-Sontaran war, where it had taken him very little effort to get on the Rutans’ good side and to start leading part of their army. One might think that fighting an endless, pointless war against a bunch of clones specifically designed to die might not be any fun, but the Master found ways of keeping himself entertained.  
  
It had all gone awry, however, when he and the platoon he’d been leading got caught up in a rockfall on some backwater planet the Sontarans had occupied. Rutans both match and surpass Time Lords in their durability and so the rockfall was nothing to them. However, the Master and the small band of locals they’d captured weren’t so lucky. The Master had been the only humanoid to survive.  
  
He’d climbed out of the rocks alone, amazing the floating jellyfish-like creatures with his survival. He’d wiped blood from his forehead and informed them of something crucial – _the Master does not lose._  
  
Scaling the rock wall to get back to camp had not been easy. He’d been envious of the Rutans’ ability to stick to any surface they pleased and had seriously considered killing one when it seemed to taunt him, jumping from rock to rock like a child crossing a river. In the end, however, they all made it back to camp alive.  
  
The night of rest passed all too quickly. A new day dawned, and with it, a new opportunity to strike down the Sontarans. The Master had pressed on through the remaining days, the only sign of that day’s events showing in the way he leant heavily on his cane.

  


His cane!  
  
The Master fumbled around, finding the cold metal of its handle and using it to pull himself into a sitting position. He laughed wheezily as he celebrated this small success. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a moment. The siren call of his bedsheets sung in his hearts.  
  
He hauled himself to his feet.  
  
The Master swayed gently, mind struggling to break through the fog. What came next? He had to… he had to… He noticed the door leading to his ensuite. He had to shower. Really had to shower.  
  
One step at a time, the Master slowly made his way to the bathroom. As he crossed the threshold, he noticed that the TARDIS had changed it from a bath/shower combo to a wet room, complete with a chair for him to sit in.  
  
“I’m not an invalid!” He ground out. But he noticed how weak his voice was and silently thanked his ship for being so considerate.  
  
He removed his clothes and sat in the chair. Water started automatically, wetting his hair and dripping down his form. Steam clouded his vision. There was only one other time he remembered feeling like this.

  


_“Father!”  
  
Theta’s eyes fluttered open. His breath came laboured and his left side felt… hot? What had happened?  
  
“He’s awake! Someone get a medic, he’s awake!”  
  
He recognised that voice… His eyes finally focused, and he saw his daughter leaning over him. She faked a smile, clearly trying to reassure him. Since when did she care?  
  
“Hello, my dear.” It came out a little slurred, but strong enough.  
  
“Oh Rassilon, he’s okay. Father’s okay.” She sighed and the smile became a little more genuine.  
  
“What… happened to me?”  
  
“There was… there was an accident. At the lab.” There were always accidents at the lab, that wasn’t very informative. Theta shot his daughter a look. It was all he could do, really.  
  
“An explosion. Ushas-“  
  
“Ushas!” Theta chuckled despite the pain. “Of course it was Ushas…”  
  
Ushas had been banned from working with the bioengineering department after her latest stint in the clink. She’d chosen instead to go into temporal physics. Which also happened to be Theta’s department. The council had been keeping a close eye on the pair of them, knowing that when it wasn’t Koschei blowing something up, it was certainly those two.  
  
That hadn’t stopped Ushas from managing to mess up again, it seemed.  
  
A sudden memory flooded Theta’s mind. Koschei had…  
  
“Koschei… where’s Koschei?” Theta croaked. Koschei had been there!  
  
“You really do never shut up about him, do you?” Familiar venom spilt into her tone, before she caught herself, “He’s in here too. He went back in and got you out, apparently.”  
  
“Oh, of course. Of course he did.” Theta laughed, which then turned into a haggard cough.  
  
After that, it was a blur. The medics informed him that he’d been burnt all along his left side and inhaled a lot of smoke. They told him that if he wanted to regenerate, they wouldn’t blame him.  
  
“Maybe now you’ll give up smoking that ridiculous pipe, Father.”  
  
“Never, child. Never.”  
  
His recovery had been slow. He’d returned to work almost immediately but was put on desk duty. That meant paperwork. The most fun one could have with that would be to make paper aeroplanes out of the safety protocols.  
  
Koschei visited him frequently, citing a need to make sure his best enemy didn’t do something to disrupt the flow of Gallifreyan life by forging documents and the like. They both knew that wasn’t the case._

  


_Theta had been lying in bed, tending his wounds. Just as the doctors had ordered. His daughter had come over to try and help, but he’d shooed her away.  
  
(“Father you need to stop being so stubborn!”)  
  
(“And you need to stop treating me like a child!”)  
  
The burns were painful, and the fatigue that came with dealing with the pain left him little time for anything other than work.  
  
He felt… helpless.  
  
He hiked up the sleeve of his robe to rub the medicated cream into his forearm. It stung. Yet he rubbed it on his burns anyway.  
  
“What you do?”  
  
Theta’s head jerked towards the source of the sound. The door had opened without him noticing, and in the doorway was Arkytior. His first granddaughter. Barely a year old and already caring for her grandfather.  
  
“Oh! My dear, I didn’t see you there. Don’t worry, your silly old grandfather’s just…” He trailed off. He’d never been good with kids. Not his own, not anyone’s.  
  
“Need help?” Arkytior toddled towards him, little hands grabbing at the air. Theta supposed that must be cute.  
  
“No, my dear, I-“ but he was cut off by Arkytior tripping, falling and bashing her head on the floor. Both grandfather and granddaughter were shocked into silence. Then Arkytior started to sniffle.  
  
“Oh no, no, no!” Theta knew that if Arkytior were to start wailing his daughter would never forgive him. He moved quicker than he had in a good while to kneel on the floor and scoop her into his arms. He rubbed soothing circles into her forehead.  
  
“There we go, that’s it don’t cry. Don’t cry child. Don’t cry. You’re okay.”  
  
Was this what he was supposed to say? He didn’t know, he’d never known…  
  
It seemed to work, however, as Arkytior calmed down slightly. She sniffled and looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes. Eyes so much like his own.  
  
“It hurts.”  
  
_Doesn’t it just _, Theta thought bitterly, shifting his weight off his burnt leg.  
  
“Oh dear, well we can’t have that, can we?” Theta wasn’t one for ‘kissing it better’ as it were. His mind raced as he thought of what to do. Then he felt a small hand on his arm.  
  
“You hurt too?” Arkytior gazed thoughtfully at the scar tissue that lined Theta’s arm. Theta cursed internally, pulling his sleeve down. He hadn’t meant for her to see that.  
  
“No. Well, er, yes, but… I’m alright, child. I’m healing.” The doctors had said that the scars would fade with time. But for now…  
  
Actually, that gave him an idea.  
  
He looked for the tub of cream. He found it on the floor, just within arm’s reach. He picked it up and showed it to Arkytior.  
  
“I use this. It’s a very special cream made by scientists. It’ll make that little ouchie of yours better.”  
  
Ouchie? Since when did he talk like that to children?  
  
“Really, granpapa?”  
  
“Really, child. Here.” He scooped a little up and massaged it into her forehead. Immediately her expression changed. “Now, doesn’t that feel better, hm?”  
  
“Uh-huh” She smiled up at him. Okay, that was cute.  
  
Arkytior reached for the tub. She mashed her hand into the creamy contents and began to pat it all over Theta’s arm. He winced at the slight pain.  
  
“Better?” Her eyes were full of hope.  
  
Theta felt sick. Had this been anyone else, he would crush their delusion without a second thought. Even his own daughter. But with Arkytior, something was different. She melted his hearts in a way no one had ever done before. Not even his wife.  
  
He’d been hopeless.  
  
“Yes, much better.”  
  
He didn’t feel so hopeless anymore.  
  
And then he tried to stand. His legs had gone numb while he was kneeling and he hadn’t even noticed.  
  
“Up?” Arkytior asked quietly.  
  
“Ah, no. I appear to be stuck down here.” He laughed, a little nervously. Arkytior laughed along with him.  
  
“There you are Arkytior, Mummy’s been looking everywhere for you!” Theta’s daughter stood in the doorway. “What are you doing down there, Father?”  
  
“I, ah…” Theta thought for a moment. “We were just having a little chat. Now, would you help me up?”_

  


The Master realised with a start that it was tears that clouded his vision, not steam. He felt hopeless, just like he had done all those years ago. But this time he was alone.  
  
He missed his granddaughter. But she had made her decision as he had his. And he had no regrets.  
  
The Master stood slowly. Somehow he had performed the act of washing himself without realising. He allowed himself to be rinsed off before walking back into his bedroom. He grabbed a black towel from where it hung and wrapped it around his body.  
  
He stood, bare feet on bare floor, staring at his wardrobe. On the front, the TARDIS had helpfully hung both his regular outfit (shirt, cardigan, coat, and trousers) and a dressing gown (black, of course) on hangers. For him to pick from, it seemed.  
  
The Master fluttered his fingers over the handle of his cane, contemplating. The brain-fog had lifted a little, but he didn’t feel any better. He reached for the dressing gown. The soft material enveloped his tired body and he sighed gently.  
  
He turned back to his bed, resigned to a day of laziness. But he was surprised to find a tray piled high with goodies – chocolates, port, a cheeseboard, even some flowers! But what warmed his hearts the most was a DVD on the greatest conflicts in Earth’s history.  
  
The Master allowed himself a smile.  
  
“You know,” He pondered aloud. “They say you’re never truly alone on a TARDIS. Of course, that’s because you’re supposed to have six pilots.” He chuckled lightly. “But even with just me on board, well…”  
  
He tapped the DVD, and the screen opposite his bed whirred to life, a military fanfare blaring from its speakers. The Master gently manoeuvred himself back into bed and picked a chocolate off the tray.  
  
“Perhaps I’m not as alone as it may seem, eh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as what would have been a simple look into how the Master spends his day indoors and evolved into something much, much bigger. Funny how things can change with a single line.  
> This was going to be split into two chapters, but I couldn't find a suitable spot to split it, so you get one big mega chapter! Hooray!  
> As always, if you have any questions, want to see art, or just want to say hi, feel free to find me at universally-masterful.tumblr.com


	5. A Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This reign of terror is ending. But the nightmare never ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delgado!Doctor is here! Kinda!  
> Okay, he's barely in this, but it counts, right?  
> Anyway, we're back to short chapters again which sucks, I know, but hopefully these are keeping you entertained while we're all stuck inside.  
> But if you haven't heard the news, AO3 is no longer showing hits from people without accounts which kinda sucks. So if you don't have an account but you're liking what you're reading, please leave kudos and/or a comment so I can see you. You don't need an account to do either of those, so if you have the time please do.  
> Okay back to your regularly scheduled bastard man.

The Master stumbled through the snow, cursing himself to the winds. His latest plan had backfired spectacularly and now he was paying the price.  
  
He thought it would be genius to convince the Cybermen to kill and convert all of Earth’s humans as well as taking its energy. The fact that the Doctor happened to be at the Snowcap base at the same time had sent him positively giddy. However, he’d carried on with his plans, managing to incapacitate the Doctor enough so that it could go without a hitch.  
  
Until the Cybermen turned on him, attempting to kill him too once they saw no more use for him.  
  
_Typical_ , he thought bitterly, falling to his knees as his legs finally gave out, _no one thinks an old man can be useful_.  
  
They’d almost succeeded as well, but the Master had outsmarted them long enough to escape. In the end, however, the energy drain Mondas had created had put strain on his old body and had worn it too thin. Now he was dying of old age.  
  
Pity. He’d always expected to die on the field of battle, and to rise again from the flames of regeneration like a phoenix to take revenge his would-be killers. He supposed now that was a bit too dramatic, even by his standards.  
  
At least that would be better than dying alone on the South Pole.  
  
“Master!”  
  
And he _had_ to jinx it. The Master looked up, seeing the Doctor battling the winds to get close enough to be heard.  
  
“Please, you don’t have to do this alone! Come back to my TARDIS, I can help you.”  
  
There it was. _I can help you._ How many other people had the Doctor said that to? The Master spat blood into the snow. He grinned.  
  
“Help me? You are the last person in this universe that I’ll accept help from, Doctor!”  
  
“At least come with me, Master. You can’t regenerate out here in the cold! Come on, my TARDIS isn’t that far, you can just-“  
  
“Just what?” The Master groaned as he felt his kidneys shut down. “Let you take advantage of me at my most vulnerable, perhaps try and convert me to your ridiculous crusade of sympathy? Oh no, Doctor! If I must die, I’m doing it on my own terms. Why don’t you go back to your little human friends, keep warm?”  
  
The Master struggled to his feet. Where was his cane?  
  
The Doctor watched, pain in his eyes. Sympathy for his old friend.  
  
“Master, don’t go…”  
  
“Don’t go. Hmf!” The Master tried to draw himself up to his full height but doubled over as he felt the regeneration energy begin to bubble inside him. He clutched his middle, willing the inevitable away.  
  
For now, he had a message to deliver.  
  
“Hear me, Doctor! I will never leave you. I will destroy you, no matter how long it takes!” He faltered, staggering backwards. Time to go. “Even if I have to go the long way ‘round…”  
  
With that, the Master turned and disappeared into the snow. The Doctor stared at the space where his best enemy had once been.  
  
“Doctor? Where are you?” he heard Polly’s voice behind him, and the moment was lost.

  
  


The Master fell into his snow-drift disguised TARDIS. He rested heavily on the console, cold hands stinging on the warm metal. The TARDIS took flight without his input. Regeneration energy bubbled and boiled within him, threatening to break free and change him from the inside out.  
  
The Master heaved, savouring these last few moments of personhood before some new man walked away. He looked into the time rotor and saw his reflection. He gazed into his own eyes, knowing that this was the last time he’d see them. Those wonderful, hypnotic eyes. He smiled.  
  
“Well then. Here we go. The long way ‘round.”  
  
Strength left his body and he collapsed.  
  
Time spun around him as golden light poured from every bare patch of skin. Hair filled out and darkened, skin became leathery from sun it had never seen, and new eyes formed behind new lids. As the light subsided, a new man lay on the floor, a man quite unlike his predecessor. The TARDIS landed, and all was still once again.  
  
It was the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.  
  
The Master opened his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh, this guy just can't catch a break, can he? Week before last he's meeting a traumatised version of his oldest friend, last week he was gravely ill, and this week he's just straight-up dead!  
> But don't worry, these drabbles are not in chronological order, so the story doesn't end here. Just wanted to abuse him that little bit more!  
> But yeah, in this universe The Tenth Planet also involves the Master, making it the first of many times he teams up with the Cybermen (and fails miserably lol).  
> (Also the "long way round" line is the only thing about the First Doctor that I acknowledge from Twice Upon a Time.)  
> As always you can find art and ask questions on this fic's dedicated Tumblr: universally-masterful.tumblr.com  
> Prepare yourself for next week, folks, because a special guest is coming! And she's not happy...


	6. A Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything she knows is a lie.  
> So who does she go to for the truth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to keep this AU pretty Classic-bound, as infinitely more talented people are working on the Modern series. However, I happen to have a friend whose love for Jodie Whittaker knows no bounds, and so this is for her.  
> So here's my take on the woman who started it all for me - here's Whittaker!Master in all her feral glory.  
> Happy reading!

The Master paused, coat halfway to the hatstand. There was already a coat there, one that distinctly wasn’t his. He narrowed his eyes and pricked up his ears at the sound of… munching. A rustling of a wrapper. The Master’s body stiffened, instinctively ready for battle. He smoothly hooked his coat on the peg next to the offending item and slowly turned around.  
  
There, in his console room, in his chair, sat a young woman. Her blonde hair was neatly trimmed into a bob and her hazel eyes were locked on a pack of custard creams. She was wolfing them down, scattering crumbs all over the place. His place. His _tidy_ place.  
  
“Well now, young lady.” The Master plastered on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing here?”  
  
“Eating biscuits, what does it look like?” the stranger said petulantly, popping another one into her mouth. “Want one?”  
  
“No most certainly not!” The smile dropped and he stalked over to her. “What I want is for you to get off my ship.”  
  
The stranger looked at him with the same air of arrogance as a two-year-old on their first power trip.  
  
“I’m not going to.”  
  
The Master felt his temper flare and he drew his sword. He held a sharp edge against her throat.  
  
“Oh, I think you are.”  
  
It was then that he noticed her clothing. A black silk blouse with golden cufflinks, black suit trousers and black combat boots. Adorning her waist was a belt with a golden buckle that resembled two hands joining. If he didn’t know any better, he would say that that kind of fashion sense belonged to…  
  
It was also then that she booted him in the stomach, winding him and sending him staggering backwards. She jumped up, brushing crumbs off her shirt and trousers. The stranger strolled over to a wall, opened a secret compartment, and drew the second sword that hid within it. She turned to face him.  
  
Oh. Now he was certain as to who she was.  
  
“Engarde, old man!”  
  
She lunged forward, too quick for the Master to parry so he simply stepped back. However, it was clear to both of them that, even if he had been frozen to the spot, she would not have reached him.  
  
“New legs. Short legs. Still getting used to them.” She scronched her nose at the inconvenience. And then she went on the attack.

  
  


She was relentless, the virtues of a younger body the Master supposed. She was also furious, like hellfire melting his icy exterior. Their battle raged on for Rassilon knows how long, she attacking, he defending and then returning the favour. She was smaller and harder to hit but he had better balance and a keener eye for detail. In other words: evenly matched.  
  
It all came to a head when she sliced one of his cardigan buttons off. They both watched it fall. The Master could not believe her audacity! So he sliced off a lock of her hair in return. The strands fell lazily, shining in the TARDIS’ artificial lighting. They both watched them fall.  
  
“I’ve had enough of this game.” The other Master’s face suddenly twisted into a snarl. In one smooth motion she landed a blow to the Master’s cheek, disarmed him, and snapped his sword over her knee. The Master stared, mouth agape, as she dropped the two halves to the floor and wiped the blood off her hands.  
  
“Ah, I hope you’re going to repair that!”  
  
“Oh don’t worry.” The other Master sat back in her chair, “You will.”  
  
The Master cursed his future self’s impulsiveness.  
  
“What are you here for, hm? Can’t just be to eat all my biscuits, make a bloody mess, and send me back to my forge for a week, can it?”  
  
“Can’t it?”  
  
“Answer the question, girl.” The Master snapped. And instantly regretted it as his future self’s face displayed such fury that he was genuinely scared she’d hurt him. And then the look was gone, and she stood and fiddled with the TARDIS’ console like she hadn’t a care in the world.  
  
“I’m just trying to find myself. Return to my roots, as it were.”  
  
“Oh? Lost our way, have we child?”  
  
“Less lost… more I fear I never had it in the first place.”  
  
“Are you insulting me?” The Master chose his words carefully, not wishing to anger her further. She merely sighed.  
  
“No, of course not. It’s just…” She leaned in conspiratorially, and the Master found himself drawn in, “I’ve made a bit of a discovery recently. And I’m not quite sure what to make of it!”  
  
“What is it?” The Master asked, quite enthralled by her charisma. Or was it her hypnosis? The other Master drew back and traced a finger along the console’s edge as she moved around it.  
  
“Spoilers! But I can’t stand having this new little secret- well, big secret really! Very big. Enormous. Gigantic-!”  
  
“Yes, yes, yes. But what are you here for?” The Master really wished she’d get to the point already.  
  
The other Master sighed a deep and heavy sigh, flopping back into the chair and picking the custard creams back up.  
  
“Advice, I think.” She shoved one into her mouth and spoke around it. The Master was vaguely reminded of red velvet cake. “Advice from someone not jaded by time’s cruel treatment.”  
  
“Young lady, do you happen to be blind?” The Master dryly quipped. But he knew what she meant. He knew that he was young and inexperienced, though he didn’t like to admit it.  
  
He pulled up a chair and sat facing her, studying her face closely. Her eyes were cold and determined.  
  
“What do you want from me?”  
  
“Well… I’d like to know what you’d do if you found out a big secret. Something that shook you to your core and made you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like…” She shifted in her seat, “Oh like if you found out that, by some sort of weird stable time loop, you in a past life happened to be Rassilon herself. And they had deleted parts of your memory to make you forget. Just as an example.”  
  
“Bah, that’d be ridiculous.”  
  
“You’d think, but with what I’ve seen…”  
  
“Well. Hm.” The Master put a finger to his lips pensively. “Well, as unimaginative as it may be, I’d probably just murder everyone involved. Slowly. Make them pay for lying to me.”  
  
“Thought so. Just wanted to be sure.” The other Master tilted her head. “But it’s not that simple.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“No. Now imagine that it wasn’t you that happened to be Rassilon, but the person you cared about most in the universe.”  
  
“Unless I’ve gotten soft in my old age, there’s only one person that could apply to.”  
  
There was silence.  
  
“Please don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft!”  
  
“I haven’t. It is who you’re thinking of.” The Masters regarded each other warily, then spoke in unison.  
  
“The Doctor.”  
  
The silence resumed. Both Masters thought of their own Doctors, wondering in their own ways what this secret could mean for them.  
  
“If you want my advice…” The younger Master offered, “You should break him. Let him learn in the most painful way possible. Have a little fun with him.”  
  
The elder Master looked up to see a devious grin.  
  
“And then kill those responsible. Perhaps in front of him? If you really want to break his altruistic little spirit.”  
  
“Learning the truth might just break him by itself, though.”  
  
“Better to be safe than sorry,” The Master stood and fetched a dustpan and brush from a cupboard. “You know how damn persistent he can be.” He held them out to her.  
  
She didn’t take them. Her eyes were hidden by a curtain of hair and her nails were digging into the arm of the chair.  
  
“You really have gotten soft.”  
  
“IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE!” She spat out; face contorted in fury.  
  
“So you keep telling me!” The Master rose to her challenge, puffing out his chest and looking down his nose at her. “You with your ‘spoilers’ and your ‘it’s not that simple’! If you’re not going to tell me exactly what you found so I can actually help you, then perhaps you can make yourself useful.” He re-offered the dustpan and brush. “You made this mess, now clean it up!”  
  
The other Master slapped them out of his hands.  
  
“I’ve already done it.”  
  
She walked to the doors, pulling her jacket from its hook.  
  
He tutted, retrieving the tools and setting to work cleaning up the mess. He was angry, but he couldn’t scold her. The only thing he could do was wonder what could shake her so. What had she discovered?  
  
“I…” He turned to see her standing in the doorway. She had put on her black suit jacket and black leather gloves. She fiddled with them. “I have to thank you. Despite everything, you gave me good advice. I know what to do now.”  
  
“Well, whatever you do, my dear.” He smiled. A genuine one, this time. “Make it masterful.”  
  
She laughed like it was the first time she’d heard the centuries-old inside joke.  
  
“Yes, Master.” The other Master gave a mock salute. And then she was gone, doors closing behind her.  
  
The Master pursed his lips as he brushed up the remaining crumbs. He put fingers to the cut she had given him, already dry and beginning to scar. He came to his conclusion. No matter what that secret might be, and no matter how soft, or messy, or downright erratic he would become… he couldn’t wait to be her.  
  
He brushed the crumbs into the rubbish bin and put the dustpan and brush away. Then he spotted his broken sword.  
  
How had that happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of Whittaker!Master is up on this fic's dedicated Tumblr now! universally-masterful.tumblr.com/  
> And if you have any questions, requests or anything else, asks are open there too.  
> See you next week <3


	7. A Visit to Parliament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, she couldn't very well keep calling herself The Master, now could she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to Tennant!Master. Or the Mistress, as she calls herself.  
> Inspired by the many times David has dressed as a woman in his roles, the Mistress is a Nanny Ashtoreth-inspired powerhouse of a woman who's just a little bit bananas. Just a little. Tell her she's pretty. Go on. Do it.
> 
> Godspeed, fair reader!

The Prime Minister settled into her office chair and sighed. The struggle was over. She cleaned her hands of the paperwork that had been dumped onto her and set about her real work.  
  
Finding the Doctor.  
  
A knock came at the door.  
  
“Yes, what is it?” She tried to keep her voice light, but couldn’t stop her disdain for the human race from seeping in. The door opened, and a young man in fatigues stepped inside. She preened slightly at this – she’d always loved a man in uniform, no matter the species.  
  
“General Masters here to see you, ma’am.”  
  
“I didn’t organise a meeting with the army-“ She’d gotten up to talk some sense into the imbecile when she noticed the look in his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, and he was standing unnaturally still. From behind him she caught a flash of white hair.  
  
“Send him in, then, dear.” She sank back into her chair and adjusted her suit - aligning the pinstripes just so. In marched a smartly dressed army man, indistinguishable from all the rest save for how old he was. And how long he wore his hair. He stood to attention, snapping out a salute.  
  
“General Masters, at your service ma’am!” A faint smirk toyed with the edge of his lips.  
  
“Masters, how lovely to see you at this… tumultuous time.” Her Scottish brogue trilled with warmth at the newcomer. She was happy to play the game of civility just a little longer. How long could she trap him inside the confines of social niceties?  
  
“Yes, well.” The smirk had disappeared, not long at all apparently, and he turned to the young soldier. “You can leave us in peace for now, young man.” He shooed him outside and shut the door after him.  
  
Suddenly, they were alone. They made eye contact. And burst out laughing.  
  
“This Archangel Network of yours!” The Master said through chuckles. “It’s ingenious!”  
  
“Thank you, dearie.” The Mistress toyed with a lock of dark hair. “I knew it would be.”  
  
“And becoming Prime Minister, how did you do that?” he shed his outer coat and sat across from her. “You couldn't have hypnotised _everyone_ , could you?”  
  
“Oh, my dear boy.” The Mistress said smoothly. Master stiffened at the epithet he usually reserved for others. “My abilities have increased tenfold since I was you. But you’re right. No, I went the legal route - campaigned and everything! After hypnotising the entire country into believing I exist, of course. The Archangel Network helped with that.”  
  
She leaned back in her seat and sighed. As it usually does, it began with just one person. Now it was the whole country. Soon the whole world.  
  
“So, what are they calling you this time?” He asked, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. The absolute power that this version of him possessed was sending him qdizzy.  
  
“Davina.” Her eyes were sharp, her grin a flash of teeth with a peek of tongue. “Davina Saxon.”  
  
He nodded approvingly. A fine name.  
  
“But you,” she reached out with a sharp-nailed finger. The Master refused to blink as it hovered in front of his eyes. “may call me Mistress.” She booped his nose.  
  
The Mistress giggled as she lounged over the desk, fingers interlaced. She gazed up at him, deep brown eyes peering over smart glasses.  
  
The Master kept a poker face as he studied her.  
  
“And… is there a lot of this in the future?” He asked, a hint of disapproval in his tone.  
  
“A lot of what?” The picture of innocence.  
  
“This… posing.”  
  
She straightened up and had the decency to look just a little miffed.  
  
“But of course. When one is Prime Minister, one must keep a good image. Do you think I’m pretty, dearie?”  
  
He coughed his way through an answer. This attention-seeking behaviour, just where did she get it from? And where will it take her?  
  
He realises he wants to find out.  
  
“And, of course, behind every Prime Minister is a strong army. Perhaps I could stay with you and-“  
  
“No.”  
  
“Pardon me?”  
  
“I said no.” Her eyes turned dark. “This is my little pet project, not yours.”  
  
“Listen to me, young lady. As far as I’m aware Great Britain didn’t celebrate first contact in 20##, so I’m very curious as to what your _little pet project_ entails.”  
  
“What it entails is none of your business. At least not for a few hundred years. I remember being you enough to know that you’ll just turn this into a bloodbath right away. And I want to be a little more careful than that. So, butt out, old man.”  
  
“Come now, my dear-!”  
  
She stood, and he suddenly realised that she was _tall_. Taller than tall, with tall heels to add more tall to the tall pile of tallness that was the Mistress.  
  
“Listen to _me._ " She rounded the table and loomed over him. “If you want to know my plan, then here it is: I’ve got a paradox machine.”  
  
His jaw dropped.  
  
“And I’m not afraid to use it on you. So, if you even _breathe_ in the direction of the next few years, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Got it?”  
  
Her voice rumbled low in his chest. The way she could flip from jovial to furious in the span of a few seconds… and so controlled…!  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Yes, what?”  
  
He looked her dead in the eyes.  
  
“Yes, Mistress.”  
  
“Very good, Master. Besides, I have my own army.” Aaaand back to jovial again. She flopped back into her chair and picked up a nail file.  
  
“Do tell.” His eyes were filled with innocent curiousity.  
  
“Don’t push your luck.” She didn’t even look at him.  
  
This conversation was over, it seemed. The Master shrugged his coat back on and made his way to the door. He opened it and intended to shut it after him-  
  
“Well, Masters, that was a wonderful chat, but I do need to get back to running the country now.” The Mistress stood in the doorway, towering over him even as he drew himself up to his full height. He was trapped, physically and metaphorically, in social niceties. Well, two can play at that game.  
  
“Indeed. And a fine job you’ll make of it, Ms Saxon.” He gave an easy smile and motioned for his hypnotised soldier friend to follow. He was stopped by a hand on his chest.  
  
“Oh, just one more thing.” She smiled devilishly. “Do you think I’m pretty?”  
  
She intended to fluster him, that much was obvious. One last jab at his inferiority. Not this time, however.  
  
“Radiant, my dear lady.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. A quiet gasp came from the intern that he’d noticed standing in the corner. Gossip – one’s most fervent enemy if one happens to be a Prime Minister. A parting gift from past to future.  
  
With that, he took his leave, forever doomed to wonder just what was going to lead him to that point. Forever doomed to live and die as Ms Davina Saxon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKay I know I said I'd keep this AU classic-bound but I have a very very good reason for including Tennant!Master in this:  
> I'm very gay for David Tennant. Especially when he's wearing a dress. And using his natural accent. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa  
> I'm taking a step back from creating art for characters for now as we're moving into exam season. And as of right now, there is only one chapter that is ready to go up - so that'll be next week. After that, however, it's debatable as to whether I'll be able to keep uploading stuff on time, so please be patient with me. Other deadlines have to be met, and these ones have to take a back seat.  
> I'll see you next week! (unless the deadlines kill me first...)


	8. A Comfort (or Not)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Situations. Decisions. Appearances.  
> Comforts, or the lack thereof.
> 
> Who's in control, really?  
> Who is writing the story, really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone else completely lost track of the days? Because I completely forgot it was Saturday. Time means nothing to me now.  
> But have you spent 40 minutes being scared witless by Geoffrey Beevers' dulcet tones recently? Because I have and holy f*** is it an experience.  
> In celebration, here's Beevers!Doctor and his way of looking at the world. How will it impact our (anti)hero?

“Which one are you, then?”  
  
The voice was slow with a certain gravel to it. The owner of the voice was sitting on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the plains that covered this primitive world. The Master stopped short; he was sure that he’d been quiet. But sneaking up behind the Doctor was never easy.  
  
He drew his sword and held the tip against the back of the Doctor’s neck.  
  
“Guess.”  
  
“Ah.” The Doctor didn’t seem to react. “The original. I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?”  
  
The Master took stock of the back of the Doctor’s head. This Doctor was bald, and his skull was criss-crossed by scars, some parts looking almost… burnt?  
  
“Time hasn’t been kind to you.”  
  
“And you seem reluctant to move on.” The Doctor finally turned and so did the Master’s stomach. His face might have been handsome, but it was marred by scars and burnt patches. His lips seemed to be barely there at all, displaying his teeth. Sunken eyes stared into the Master’s – there was no fear in them. “Come and sit by me, won’t you? Unless you’re scared of me too.”  
  
“What happened to you?” It came out a little more hoarsely than the Master intended. He slowly walked towards the edge and lowered himself down. His legs swung loosely over the edge, just as the Doctor’s did. His left arm itched.  
  
“I’ve always been like this.” The words came a little too easily, the line a little too practiced.  
  
The Master simply nodded. Regenerations always had that small risk of leaving you worse than you were going in. Some bodies are born out of death, and it seems all they can do is die.  
  
His hand knocked against something wooden.  
  
“A cane.” He realised.  
  
“Yes. One that I actually need, unlike you.” The Doctor chuckled lowly. “This body has a propensity for failing me, you see.”  
  
“I do.” He dared not look. “Do you remember that incident? Back on Gallifrey?”  
  
“I do. So, you _are_ scared of me.”  
  
“I most certainly am not!”  
  
“Fine. I _elicit bad memories_ , then.”  
  
“That’s it.” Nobody had better say he’s scared.  
  
“And yet you’re still here. How nice of you.”  
  
“You’re projecting. Do it again and I’ll throw you off this cliff.”  
  
The Doctor chuckled. “Go ahead and try. I’m not too bothered how long this body lasts me. Though I’m in no hurry to be out of it, mind you.”  
  
“Why stay in it if it’s so…” he struggled for the right word, “deficient?”  
  
“Because as long as my mind is sharp and my body is mobile, I can make do.”  
  
“Make trouble might be a better phrase.”  
  
“Ah, Master. I’ve found that trouble is a very good thing to make!” The Doctor’s voice was warm. “Surely even you could agree to that.”  
  
The Master had nothing to say to that. This version of the Doctor seemed to delight in joking and provoking. His warmth was almost infectious. Quite at odds with his… exterior.  
  
They sat in silence for a moment, both Time Lords enjoying the gentle breeze. The Master took out a pipe and lit it, the smoke curling around them.  
  
The Doctor noted that if the Master was intending to ruin this world by polluting it, he was going very slow about it. The Master responded that there wasn’t much to ruin by the looks of things. Such a primitive little world.  
  
“I remember that about you – you’re used to a certain level of bureaucracy, aren’t you? You could almost call it a certain level of comfort. You’ve changed. The version of you I know now is rather opportunistic.”  
  
“I make do with what I find.”  
  
“What you find is often what you can make do with.”  
  
“And what about you?” The Master deflected, trying to ignore the way this Doctor could pierce his armour so easily. “You’re used to a certain level of charm. How does anyone trust you with a face like that?”  
  
“You think I’m charming!”  
  
“Answer the question!”  
  
“Well…” The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, “it isn’t easy. Sarah Jane screamed when she saw what I’d become. I often have to wear a hood of some kind before people get to know me. It isn’t easy, hiding away. It’s not fun.”  
  
The Master snorted. “Yes, well if you must continue to force yourself upon people-“  
  
“You did this to me!” The Doctor’s dark eyes flared with anger. “You’re the reason my regeneration went wrong! _You_ did this.” The words stuck in his throat, cutting him off. “And you laugh…”  
  
He twisted his hands in his lap. The Master noticed that they were bandaged.  
  
“And that human you mentioned. Is it still with you?”  
  
“Sarah? Yes… took her a little convincing that I’m still me, but she stayed.”  
  
“Shame. The thought of you all alone simply because of the way you look, well, heh heh…” The Master stifled a laugh against the back of his hand. He didn’t want to break this Doctor’s spirit, not just yet.  
  
“Funny, is it?! Don’t you experience it too? Do people not stare as if they think you’ll drop dead any moment?”  
  
“Projecting again, my dear-“  
  
“Do they look at you as if you’re weak and feeble?”  
  
“Well-“  
  
“Do they talk as if you’re senile? As if you can’t hear them?”  
  
“They do!!” The Master thundered. “And then I turn around and prove them wrong! I don’t entertain their fantasies of senility and vulnerability; I show them that I’m anything but.”  
  
He didn’t know when he’d taken hold of the Doctor’s tweed jacket, pulling their faces close, but he gave him a shake for good measure. The Doctor’s face was frozen, fear finally lining his features. The Master smirked.  
  
“Perhaps you can prove to me that you won’t fall to dust from a little shake, hmm?”  
  
He let go.  
  
“…I suppose…” The Doctor murmured. He shook himself. “I suppose I should be getting back to Sarah. She’ll be wondering where I am. She does worry herself so.”  
  
The Master simply watched as the Doctor struggled to his feet. He heard bones creak, muscles protest, and the Doctor groan in pain. He saw how the Doctor leant on his cane like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Finally, the scarred man stood up straight and huffed in victory.  
  
“Where’s your TARDIS?” The Master asked, tone light.  
  
“Oh, just down this hill, not far.”  
  
“What a coincidence,” he stood, and both of them noticed the comparative grace and ease that accompanied the motion, “mine’s there too.” He offered an arm.  
  
“Oh, go away!” The Doctor batted it away. “I won’t ‘fall to dust’ as you so nicely put it.”  
  
The Doctor picked over the stone-covered hill, looking for places to put his uncertain feet. He leaned on his cane for balance, knowing that to fall now would mean to never rise again. Not in this body at least. He didn’t want to put Sarah through that again.  
  
The Master watched this effort to remain upright and decided to follow suit. He skipped across the stones nimbly, holding his cane behind him, quickly surpassing the Doctor. He landed on a flat rock and spun to face his companion. He inclined his head and, with a flourish, held out a hand for the Doctor to take.  
  
The Doctor stole a glance at the particularly uneven patch before him. His face broke out into a tired smile.  
  
“Show-off.”  
  
He took the proffered hand.  
  
  


  
  


They met Sarah Jane at the bottom of the hill. She laughed and gestured to their still-joined hands.  
  
“If you wanted to sneak off with your boyfriend, Doctor, you could have just said!”  
  
“I seem to be making a habit of this…” The Master muttered. He felt his cheeks heat up, the sensation of bandage on skin suddenly feeling entirely too conspicuous.  
  
“He’s not. Um.” The Doctor pulled his hand away. “Shall we be going, Sarah?”  
  
“Okay, Doctor.” She looked between them, aware that she’d upset something. Her gaze settled on the Master. But he was watching the Doctor walk back to his TARDIS and so she turned to follow.  
  
It was at that moment that the Master realised the Doctor’s fear. He knew just what was bothering his old enemy and knew just the words that could alleviate his fears. But such kindness was beyond him, surely. He was the Master - it had to be.  
  
Or did it? Of course, we all know that decisions aren’t final in the grand scheme of things. Different decisions are made in different universes – that fact is what causes this story to be told. Put simply, there are two outcomes to this particular chapter.  
  
One is the one you’d expect: The Master is not nice and is not kind, and so simply turned to go back to his own TARDIS. He took great satisfaction in the knowledge that, even after his face would change, he would still torment the Doctor. And he would ignore the Doctor’s words and remain stubbornly comfortable.  
  
The other outcome is one that might be nicer: The Master realised that he might not be able to provide comfort, but others could. So, he called out to Sarah Jane Smith, simply to look her in the eyes and bid farewell. And he implanted the idea in her head, the words that the Doctor longed to hear:  
  
_“You’re not unlovable, you know. Even now.”_  
  
And the Master would heed the Doctor’s words. Or not. It doesn’t matter.  
  
Destiny is coming for them both, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a bit to say here, so skip to the end if you want.  
> Writing this chapter left me with quite the revelation: I miss my parents. I realised this when writing the first pass of this chapter all those weeks ago. It was a lot less angry, a lot more contemplative, and a lot kinder. I am in the unfortunate position of having to focus on my studies during this lockdown, and so am in a completely different city to my parents. Going home would mean that I wouldn't be able to study at all, and so I must stay here. This is the longest amount of time I've spent without seeing them in person, and I miss them very much. I'd been sublimating those feelings into my writing, and caused the starring character of this piece to be written quite out of character. So this went through a few rewrites to become harsher, and I still don't think it's quite right. Oh well.  
> But the ending of this chapter was inspired by the split path I found myself on - kind or cruel? Out of character or in character? And what is the nature of this universe?  
> As always, you can seek answers and art at universally-masterful.tumblr.com. I'll see you there.


	9. A Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A message has come from the stars, falling and burning like a meteor.  
> Feel free to have a listen, as it appears to be harmless.
> 
> For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEADLINES ARE KILLIN ME HERE'S A RAMBLY CHAPTER THAT I WROTE TO PROCRASTINATE OKAY BYEEEEEE

_T̢̼̯̖͉͖͔̈̑͂͑̅̕͟͞ͅa̱̬̲̟̜͊̽̐͂͑͒̄̊p̰͎͉͇̬̗͈̟͚̈́̆́͐̕͘̕͞.̰͍̣̲̖̥̺̂̿͛̚͡ͅ T̞̗̟̳͊̾͗̈́̎̋̅̏͘͜͞a̸̛͕̯̞̔̄͐̇̂̐̕͜͡ͅp̴̨̳̬̼̞̺̑̓͗͛̋̽͢.̸̛̬̰̫̦̪̲̂̾̈́͑̋̀͜͠ T̶̢̨̪͙̺̬̥̻͊̈͋̾̓̈́̓̄͝ą̟̖̤͓͚͒̋͊͋͢͡p̴̧̢̺̞͎͚̱͑͌͊͒́̂͌̚̚͢͢.̶̭͖͈̜̥͙͎̆͂̎̒͆̀͡ T̶͔̟̹̥̂͌̆͂̀̉͘̚ͅą̴̭̩͎̈̂̉͂͒͟ͅp̴̖̹͕͕͑͑̓͞͠ͅ.̴̣̞̥̖̥̫̋̃͌̈̚͜͡_

__

̷̹̺̟̬͎̆̒̈́̂̿̚͜͡

__

_T̸̢̠̠̜͈̼͖̠̟̆̈́̓̈͂̃̓͜͠a̩̞̞̱͇͔͇̗̔͊̈̈̈͛͢p̫̜̬͇͙̹̮̗̗̅̐̇̌͌̌̃̀ͅ.̷̟̩͇͇̪͈̟͙̗̌͆̎̊͌̈͞͞ Ṭ̛̪̗̝̿̌̆̇̊͂̾͢͞a̶̢̤̖̹̠̩̻͒͐̄͑͜͠p̵̱̲̩͎̩̤̏̾̾̎̑̿̕͢.̷̢̼͙̙̥̿̒̓̇̓̂͛͞ T̶̛͖̥̞̭͓̪̃̆͛̈́͒a̡̘͇͖̠̩͖̐͌͒̏̑͑͛̍̇̔͜p͓̗̖̭̺̰̗̟͗̒͛̕͡ͅ.̶̧͙̖͍͇̓͊̀̉͋̍͌̕͜͡ T̴̨̩̱̙̲͚̮̫̩̲͂̑͂͊̎̍̓a̵̛̘̺̞̲̲̱͕͇̖̅̾̃̄͘p̧̯͎͉͓̩͗̊͊͐̈́͛͑͘.̷̨͉̰̞̝̎̽͒̌̀͐̈́͘͜͡_

̴̲̳̥̘̬̠̈̓̃̾̔̌̿̉̕

C̵̞͖̤̰̲̥̮͙̭̠͐͂̉̇̍ä̴̝̻̠͉̿̊͌͗̿͒̎͠͞ͅn̷̟̥̦͉̞̏̐͊͒̇̎͝ y̢̢̯̮̬̺͖̗͈̍̈̈́͑̾͝o̶̢̧͙̗̖͍̭̔̍̿͡͡u̢͓͚͇̲̔̑̋̒̅͘͟͝ͅ h̸̻̜̮̰̬͓̽̆͌̈́̀̕͟ẹ̵̢̳̪̻̭̹͎̋̿͗̋͆͋̋͘͢͢͡a̪̝̮̱͔̱̦̿̃͌̀̀͋̉͜͝r͓̟͉̤̭̜̺͊͐̾̏͗͌̎͜ m̯͎̯̘̱̝͑̐̃́̃̈͊̓͜͞ḙ̢̨̩̝͍̪̰̳̯̅̏̅̂̈̇͘?̪̠͓̙̳̃̍̈̅͠ Į̧̧̦̪͙̦̃̽̌͂͡ ş̵̰̤͚̝̱͗̂̂̀̓̆͘͜ay, can you hear me?

No no, this isn’t a distress call. Never that.

I just wanted some way to pass the time. I’ve been on this planet for some time and I’m not sure what to do next. It’s not often I jump into things without a plan, but some… unfortunate circumstances forced me here. So you’ll listen to me, won’t you?

I’m on the Sense-Sphere, you see. A pitiful planet, with its dominant inhabitants being the Sensorites. Pitiful. Yes, absolutely pitiful. A disgustingly trusting race of creatures bound together by their telepathy. Seemingly impossible to infiltrate or influence.

Of course, that isn’t a problem if you happen to have a will as strong as mine.

I am the Master, after all.

But it’s not the Sensorites I’ve been playing with. When I… ah… landed… I found a small band of humans hiding out in the planet’s sewers. So small and pathetic and full of hatred were they that it seemed almost cruel to leave them.

Prime targets for my influence.

It seems that the human fools have finally caught on to the fact that the Sense-Sphere is rich in molybdenum. Late to the party as always. They wish to mine this planet for the resource – they’ve deemed it valuable, apparently. Heh heh… how primitive! And, being humans, I’m sure that to mine this planet would mean its destruction. Humans are so wasteful.

The human tendency for destruction is one that I admire greatly. As disgusting as the human creature can be, their ability to be so monstrous is unparalleled. You could call it inhuman.

But it can be so directionless at times. A leader is what is required, someone of stronger will to turn that monstrosity into something effective. And, well, I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this, hm?

I enjoy destruction. You may have picked up on that. Yes, I revel in it. But pointless destruction is something I cannot allow. While I enjoy sowing seeds of chaos, reaping the benefits of them must also occur. If everything ends up destroyed, then what is there for me to rule over, hmm? You must understand that that is my plan in the end. To rule.

But I have stayed in this body for so long, and I grow weary. To destroy is my only enjoyment, for the moment. And I have time, this being only my first body. I’ll leave ruling to the future me, should he be so competent. I hope he is. He must be.

Are you still listening? I hope you are. I understand that I have little influence like this, but you shouldn’t ignore me. You won’t ignore me.

The humans that I found aren’t very happy with the Sensorites. Their attempt to diplomatically arrange the destruction of this planet went south very quickly, and in their attempt to escape… well. That didn’t go very well either, let’s put it like that.

They were looking for revenge. And revenge is something I’m very good at. I’ve been wronged by so many people, so many inferior creatures that think they can best me. They never do. Like I said – revenge is something I’m very, _very_ good at.

So I suggested they poison the water supply. Though they may be admirable engineers, Sensorites aren’t very talented in the biological sector. And they are very, very trusting. My predictions that they would interpret the symptoms as an illness instead of poison have proved correct. They generally tend to. It can sometimes be boring being right all the time. The Sensorites are dying rapidly and these humans think I’m a genius! Which I am, but this was merely child’s play.

However, I’m unsure as to where to go from here. A new ship has appeared in the sky and the Sensorites are focused on that. It’s supposed to be relief for the humans that are already here.

This leaves me with only two options. Do I wait for the humans to leave and try the Sensorites myself? Or do I try and convince the humans to go down a new avenue of destruction?

The longer I wait, the more likely something will go wrong. The ship has been here for a few weeks now, with no communication from it. The humans are getting frustrated. And stupid.

Although, I feel I can empathise with them. I’ve been here for over a year now, and while I am a very patient man, something tells me I’m running out of time. And yet, I feel like I’m waiting for something, someone maybe. I don’t know why, but something has me frozen…

Ah! Do forgive me, I’ve caught myself rambling. It feels so refreshing to have someone to whom I can tell the truth. I’ve been lying to these people for so long. Lying is an unfortunate necessity in my time, erm, line of work, but the truth can be just as useful sometimes. One must find a balance.

Like that time I spent in King Henry the Eighth’s court on the planet Earth. I had a most extraordinary quarrel with the man once. I found him to be wonderfully murderous – frustration and prejudices can be the most heady mixture. As soon as someone failed him, off they went. That even extended to his wives, could you believe, eh? Ah, what a delightful time that was.

He threw a parson’s nose at me. Took all I had not to draw my sword and slice his nose clean off. All I wanted was to go to the tower, not be executed where I stood. So I had to balance truth and lies to get him just angry enough to serve my purpose. It was a little tricky, I’ll admit.

A wise person once said: people are stupid, a person is smart. Oh, if only I could remember who said that… well, it doesn’t matter. My point is, is that it’s a lot easier to manipulate crowds than one individual. Which brings me back to my current situation. Humans can be rather hysterical at the best of times. And this is not the best of times.

And so I-

Yes?

What is it, child? I’m busy!

Oh, and what are they saying?

…really? That is interesting. Thank you, my child. Thank you for informing me. You can go now.

News from the front lines. A new arrival on board the suspended ship. From all accounts it sounds like it just… appeared. Out of thin air. Teleported in, they say. But that is not the interesting part, oh no. The occupants of this new arrival are. Two men, a woman, and a child. And one of the men calls himself “The Doctor”.

Well, seems what I’ve been waiting for has come at last. Late, as usual. Or perhaps he’s right on time. You can never know with him. What I do know, however, is he’ll muck up the plans I’ve so carefully laid. Like a child who doesn’t understand the, ah, delicate concept of a house of cards. Or of timeliness.

So now is the time for action. Now is the time to choose. What to do? What to do?

Well, I’ll leave you here. I have some new plans to make. I won’t let the Doctor win, not this time. This time is mine.

For I am the Master, and you…

_...know what that means, don’t you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said last week that time means nothing to me now. I am again surprised that it is Saturday. Inching ever closer to actually having to deal with things. Sigh.  
> This is the last chapter that I have written and ready to go, and thus there will be no more uploads for a while. Exam season is upon us, and I have other shit to be doing.  
> If you do see me uploading stuff, please feel free to yell at me.  
> But, as always, you can find answers and art at https://universally-masterful.tumblr.com
> 
> (Ripping off the format of my favourite Big Finish story is okay, right? lol)


	10. An update!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening, but not here!  
> (IRL update)

Hello! I'm alive!

Just wanted to let you all know that this story is now officially on hiatus, but don't worry! I'm working on a new story in this series (yes, it's now a series) that details a portion of the life of McGann!Master, with Jacobi!Doctor also playing a starring role.

Yup, it's the Time War.

The first chapter of this should go up next Saturday, so keep your eyes peeled.

I'm so happy to be back, and I'm sorry for leaving for so long. Hope to see you soon!

(Also I hope you're enjoying the Bug-off as much as I am)

Larimar out!


End file.
